I’ve been thinking a lot today about unity. Mainly organizations and working with others. I find that I can work with others to a degree. It is like the minute we start getting too personal then it happens. And in the back of mind I’m playing this video of all the times I’ve had to deal with personalities that I clashed with. As the type of person that seems to get his kindness taking for granted, I have to constantly be on the watch for people who like to put boxes around you. Which I tend to believe is very normal, actually. Humans need a high level of repetition to feel comfortable, further we are socialized to be competitive. That creates a situation where people want to size you up, mentally comparing you to people that they have met in the past in order feel a sense of balance. Which is all fine and dandy, but when it comes to manipulation, my tolerance is real low.
Malcolm X states that he looked at Elijah Muhammad as a father. He states that he felt betrayed. Sometimes I revisit that thought as I enter into relationships with people. I once spoke with a brother that discussed leading and following with me. Many feel in order to be a good leader; you have to be a good follower. I tend to agree, however, I also notice that most people telling others that are in the leadership position, and aren’t even trying to follow half of their own tenets. My acquaintance simply related to me that he had reached the point where he simply didn’t want to be harnessed anymore. To “harness” means, “to tie together”. And I understood exactly what he meant. It is quite appropriate to have a vision, and to even seek out those to assist you in carrying that out, as I discuss in my eBook, The Better You. Someone is willing to assist you in bearing that load. I am not as aggressive in my leadership, more of a magnet than a gun, so I have a difficult time accepting aggressive leadership and demands on my time. I dislike being taken for granted, and I don’t like having my identity nullified by what other feel I ought to be doing. Working a job is one thing, pay me to do a service, I’ll do it. At the end of the day, I go home. I don’t like corporate bodies. I’m not trying to be a part of your “professional family” that I can be fired from. I would rather export my expertise, pick up my money, and bid you a fair ado.
I feel the same way with unity. I’d rather say solidarity, but we can interchange them as this thought progresses. I don’t have to believe like you to be working on the same causes as you. I don’t have to wear all black to feel a part of the pro-black movement. In fact, let’s discuss that. I am not black by virtue of anything other than the trading of bodies that occurred during the birth of this nation. The whole notion of race for me is ambiguous, but I understand the social pressure. If you have whites who will toss my application away because it says “black”, then I need to be working with other blacks. In order to ward off the economic and social ills of white power, I am forced to align myself with those who I’ve been categorized with. Although, I strongly believe that in order for a group of people to stay bonded, they should share some cultural norms and ideological percepts, as we say in dominoes…mine don’t fit. And for the most part, I’d rather not have anyone force their beliefs on me, no matter what. Certain sacrifices I can no longer afford.
I am a pretty bright guy. I don’t have to speak to shine. My gifts don’t require me to play in any popularity contest. My personality doesn’t need any extra wattage. What I have seen in the few black organizations I have been a part of, are these very things. I’ve watched people run out of meetings screaming that we need to do this and do that, and upon further reflection, I came to understand that to mean, “since I’m only good at this particular act, it is the most important one–thus you should follow me!!” I’ve heard the whispers in the pews of elder members, “They think they white…” Let me take a moment with that one.
This whole notion of a “real” black person has saturated and in my opinion, tainted the very fabric of every movement it has birthed. What I have found is that most don’t want unity or solidarity of purpose, they want control. In that same vein, those that wish to label you as not being “black” enough, or the new one that has cropped up, you are “too black”, seek to control you as well. In a world of transparency by surveillance, it is often difficult to for one to express their self honestly, because everyone either wishes to put you in a box, or assassinate your character. That is not something I’m always comfortable with.
I enjoy expressing myself a bit too much for the normal crowd. I don’t want you in my business, mainly because I don’t need your judgments. You can barely think without regret, what makes me think I’ll get a good hearing in your courtroom? Many American Blacks are swept away by this notion of white unity. There really was none though. There were blacks and there were poor whites that needed to be harnessed by rich whites. This is your unity. You had landowners that had prospered and no longer wished to be taxed by England. Grand discussions and noble ideas were written in timeless documents, but the spirit was superficial. Unfortunately, for me, symbolic gestures are like masturbation. I say that this is unfortunate for me, because like Obama, you realize real quick how important symbolism means to most of the population of earth. There are way more metaphysicians than scientists. More “healers” than doctors.
Too many con artists and not enough truly skilled at the art of earning and deserving our confidence…
I have really grown in so many different directions over the past few years.(Looking at my stomach, seems like in more ways than one. Better start hitting that gym, again.)
But jokes aside, I’ve noticed a certain slant in my thinking these days that I’ve called others “sell out” and “elitist” for having in my younger thinking. (Well, after a quick scan, it wasn’t that long ago, but stay with me.) I’m still a supporter of the idea of separation, and I’m still hopeful about pan-Afrikan ideals beyond the superficial dashiki tossed over a polo shirt and a few KiSwahili terms tossed about. I just don’t want to be in this box any longer. Granted, I don’t play well with the other grown children, but I refuse to fall into these cultural identifiers that I have really never been into. I give enough credence to my hypermasculine childhood and whatever ghosts I’ll probably never shake that came from that. But where is the point in your life where conformity ends, you begin? You know what I’m talking about(I did it a damn gin!!)
I am not talking about behaving in ways that make you feel as though you have risen above the class standards either. I’m discussing complete idiosyncratic expressions without the 3000 behind it though. I can always come back to where I am from. I don’t even know if I want to though. Is that “selling out”? Why is it? I’m no bible thumper, I am partially atheist, but I think the quote from in the book Bible is fitting here,”There is no Prophet without honour except in his own country, and among his own relatives, and in his own home.”
Now, am I a “prophet”? I don’t fucking know. Is there a class I have to take to get certified for that? Oh, let me not offend the spiritualist before I curse out the “Goddess” again. Oh, and let me not offend my “black nationalist” brethren, I realize I don’t need the “white man’s” certification for everything. Everyone needs to exercise some experience building. Nothing insular is beautiful. Look at your heart. Not your damn “astral” heart!! I mean the one that is beating inside you. The one that is actually keeping you alive. The one that doesn’t need your “ego”, doesn’t need that “you”, or “I”, conscious functionality. You can’t. YOU CAN’T LOOK AT YOUR OWN HEART. It is insular. I lived like that.
Sometimes you have to explore new horizons. I’ll always be me. You know(GOT DAMN IT!!)? I’m like Jay-Z in some ways, I’ll probably never change. I’m at peace with that. But I’d like to get outside of the ideological and cultural paradigms that have kept me in prison long after I walked away from that hell you all call “paying dues to society”(What a fucking joke!!). But what makes those behaviors “black”? Everything I hate about myself, others call “acceptable”. My cousin seems to think my habits make me tough. He boasts about my past life as if that shit won me an oscar(Oh, fuck!! No, you dashiki by Ralph Lauren wearing fucker, I don’t think every white socially applauded construct is needed to make me feel confident…). And I often have to remind him, to one, fucking “grow up”(As in maturity, no one but the incredibly shrinking woman can grow down), and two, hell, that wasn’t me any damn way.
This culture of hypermasculinity. It is real. I beg those that argue with me to come down on 25th and State in E. St. Louis and take a walk with me. I am sure the experiment will prove my hypothesis.
We have lost that love for intellectualism. We want “Tupac with a degree”. Let me tell you something, “Tupac with a degree” is as broke as a car that only drives in reverse, and spent most of his time in college sleeping in the library hoping he could write five papers in one night. Don’t belittle the efforts of the scholar because undergrad wasn’t shit. That BA or BS doesn’t qualify much in my humble but highly passionate opinion. I walked in class and noticed those who didn’t say much, and those who were still high from the last night. I know how easy it is to “slide” through classes. I was doing 18 credit hours a semester, so I know who was in the library every night and every morning, and I know who was on the yard asking to see whose paper. Even at the university level many of us just don’t have a respect for learning.
Academic or not.
I was in a discussion with this doctor I really shouldn’t be lusting after, but sorry, intelligent women make my blood vessels run to the tip of my penis like black militants running to help a white girl out of her car in the sixties(alright, old joke, couldn’t help myself). The discussion surrounded her feelings about “street knowledge”. Now, she’s a sister that grew up in middle class US and didn’t do the “date a thug” thing, so her term “street knowledge” is in reference to black militant rhetoric. And I was sort of taken aback. I am not sure if she knows my history, and so I asked her, and her response was to the effect of, black people who accept any form of information without doing research have been pimped. Now after she said that I envisioned my tongue touching every nerve on the top of her clit for like five hours, but instead I simply agreed.
We got bonded. We got attached to the rhetorical. We figured out ways to survive without knowledge so long that it became a joke. I respect all the brothers and sisters who are coming to the US in pursuit of higher education. I fear that American Blacks will be thrust into a lower class permanence such as the “untouchables” of India. And that is why I have to get out of this damn box.
I’ve tried everything. I’ve seen it your way. I’ve done the “black” thing so long I’ve become a fucking parrot, YOU KNOW(alright, I can understand that)? How many people are there out there like me? How many children? Whose son is about to make the same insane choices I made trying to adapt to a culture that is insane to begin with? I didn’t go to college to become a musician, I went because I like making lights flash on this blinking box. Then I said, hey, I also like writing things on this blinking box. And now…I want to know how our brains started blinking, and how it blinks, and why it blinks.
Hell, I’ve done what most said I couldn’t my whole life, why can’t I? Ain’t that BLACK?
As the world slowly becomes aware of the tragedy that occured when a quasi-military style apporach used by Detriot special units to capture a suspect of murder ended up in a murder, we here at the Asylum would like to reflect on Aiyana. Today mourners viewed the young angel’s body. Statements have been made regarding the tragedy by Al Sharpton. And I still don’t feel that this has garnered the deserved attention. Some have alluded to the sloppy manner in which Black organizations pick and choose who can and who shouldn’t be allowed to speak up in this tragedy. I am saddened more about how the discussion of Aiyana’s senseless and brutal slaying has turned into an argument about and of self-aggrandizement. I am saddened about how the Detroit Press in at least two coverings are attempting to divert attention away from Aiyana’s murder to that of the suspect the police decided to treat like nations treat foreign terrorists. With this sort of coverage and no gag order from the judge, I suppose a change of venue will be in order when the man goes to trial. It needs to be said that Aiyana Jones, a seven-year young baby of the Black Community was slaughtered with a bullet in her neck. While she lay bleeding, the police forced her father to lie her blood. No amount of political volleying will change that. I am overwhelmed by this feeling to scream out: WHO THE FUCK CARES HOW ATTENTION IS BROUGHT TO THIS SITUATION?
When students in Tehran, Iran decided to inform the world of voting practices that they deemed unjust, twitter exploded with green avatars, and anyone who was not apart of that cause was deemed inhumane. During the campaign to bring attention to the MURDER of a SEVEN-YEAR YOUNG CHILD BY POLICE, many have stated that twitter was the wrong means, and it was useless. The name Tehran stayed on the globally watched “Trending Topics” list for several weeks. There are still avatars that have been photoshopped green on twitter. The name Aiyana has not been on that list once. Simple measures to inform are all that many had, and I would believe that if I were to have not been killed in an instance were my child had been struck down by police, I would at least wish the world to know and to support in some means. It is indeed strange that the Michigan Attorney General Mike Cox was moved to use Twitter to denounce Al Sharpton for his planned eulogizing of our sister Aiyana JOnes, but those that use Twitter to show their sex organs, and clamor for attention from celebrities can’t type a simple “#Aiyana”. It disturbs me. It disturbs me beyond words.
I commend the sister whose twitter screen name is @_Peech. It was she who designed the ribbon that is being displayed in honor of Aiyana. I would like to thank all those who been so diligent in sacrificing their time, and we know how valuable that is, in their efforts to bring attention to this human rights travesty. I would like to thank all those using social media, and all those that have posted here on the blog, and have assisted the Asylum in my small efforts to raise consciousness surrounding this issue.
This is for Aiyana. We all put together our thoughts in a very quick manner in order to explain in our way our pain for this travesty. Much of what you read will not be edited. We feel that the raw energy needed to deal with this situation deserves our naked souls..
I have two daughters… 11 and 4 years old… they wear the same types of barrettes Aiyana Jones wore… I can’t look at her face without seeing my own children’s faces. I look at my husband and think about Aiyana’s father lying face down in his dyeing daughters’ blood. Then I think…How the fuck did we get to this place? How did we get to a place where Aiyana Jones’ name is NOT the top story on the news, the number one trending topic on twitter, on talk shows…? Why is this story NOT Breaking News on a 24 hour news cycle like the Amber alerts that literally stop time when a little white child goes missing? What else is there to talk about?
The media & police are united…they are not negligent in their delivery…the officer’s gun “went off”… it “went off” and a child is dead…but we have people discussing the nuances of where the child was sleeping, the type of neighborhood she lived in, the danger the police were potentially going into. At what point does a sleeping 7year old child present a threat to law enforcement…no amount of rationalization can justify this child’s death at the hands of the people who are hired to protect and serve. And no amount of rationalization can justify why the voices that have the most “influence” in the Black community … entertainers, athletes, politicians… have been completely silent either!!
Who is to blame? I feel responsible for this child’s death…we are ALL responsible for not policing ourselves, or communities…allowing our circumstances to victimize us. We’ve grown afraid of each other…the village no longer exists. We HAVE to do better. THEY don’t care about us…we have to care about US enough to be moved to action…to STOP it. We KNOW who shot Aiyana Jones… but we all had a hand in it…
To wake up this morning to more news
about #Aiyana Jones, the 7 year old girl
who was tragically and senselessly
murdered by men who were supposed to
serve and protect her broke my heart.
Her death should break all our hearts.
A little girl who could have grown up to
be anything – full of promise and
potential – slain by cops who got
trigger happy because there were reality
show cameras focused on them.
Who serves a warrant on a house where
children and elderly persons live by
throwing a flash grenade in a window?
Reports have even surfaced of toys in
the yard and neighbours who told LEO
(Law Enforcement Officers) that children
lived inside. To add insult to injury,
the suspect was not even apprehended at
the same apartment in which little
Aiyana and her family lived.
Many subjects and opinions have come to
light over today: Racism, police
brutality, poverty, living in urban
areas, and more; But my thought lies
with [something I’m familiar with]
Social Media. During the Iran Elections
(just rock with me for a second), when
the riots and violence started – it was
less than a day before the number one
topic on Twitter (most likely the
longest running political trending
topic) was #IranElection. Soon to
follow was #MSMFail (Mainstream Media
Fail) also #Mousavi and #CNNFail were
top ranking as well. In fact, the
entire TT list – all 10 topics – at one
point referenced the Iran Elections.
Major news houses all over the world
were getting their news from Twitter!
Not reinforcing already known news, but
we [Tweeters!] were updating the world
on the Iran Election. Quickly,
Succinctly, and Clearly. Even when dis-
(and mis)information came up, the
solidarity of people who understand the
gift of the internet quickly squashed
I say all that to reiterate my point:
If it was done once, it can be done
again. #Aiyana deserves justice and
attention. The poor in America who are
brutalized every day by LEO deserve
justice and attention. The tense racial
situation in this country deserves
attention. The LEO who forgot the
people that they serve because they were
too busy posturing for reality
television deserve attention and
ostracizing. We deserve to stand up and
say “I will not live in a police state.
I will not watch my children be murdered
by ignorant police officers. I will not
watch my country go up in flames while
people look on as if it were a movie –
I am, in my heart, disappointed and
angry. Where is President Obama to
speak on this? Where is Cornel West?
Where is Tavis Smiley? Where is the
honorable Minister Farrakhan? Where are
our black leaders to speak out and put
#Aiyana first instead of more posturing?
Where are the voices? Where is the
cacophony of screams for justice? They
are not here.
They aren’t here. But we are. #Aiyana
From @Zqclay““Like the boys in blue, when they come through with them boots
And they kickin down the door, and they don’t care who they shoot
But we do care who they shoot, so we do what we must do.”
– Andre 3000
Who is Aiyana Jones?
My little sister. My cousin. My future niece. My future granddaughter. She is…me.
Police malfeasance in regards to the underclass is nothing new. It’s as clichéd as a Memorial Day cookout. If excessive force is systemic, and the system has persisted for over a century, then what is a person to feel? It’s obvious that America has found a way to live without a certain percentage of Americans.
These “excess Americans” seem to be little than enemies of war and cannon fodder for cops and thugs, who both carry out the same agenda of black marginalization.
But we do care who they shoot. So we do what we must do.
Hopeless and utter despair is what I’m thwarting as I attempt to find the balance between outrage and calm, methodical and effective action. Indifference and apathy from grown men and women whose daughters and nieces and cousins look just like the victim is as confounding as the implausible details of the story.
Who is Aiyana Jones?
A girl who loved Disney like any other black girl in America. A girl who was couldn’t even sleep in the comfort of a bed for whatever reason. A girl who won’t graduate from elementary school. Or college. Get her driver’s license. Go to the prom. Get the steppin’ out of Detroit. Who knows her potential?
Who is Aiyana Jones?
Her truncated life yields more questions than answers. If we fail to vet those questions in any form whatsoever, we’ve failed her. We’ve failed her predecessors. And we’ll continue to fail others like her who’ll fall victim to the discharge of the “protectors and servers” of their communities.
Who is Aiyana Jones?
A reminder to tell every little girl I encounter that she is valued, loved and protected.
A reminder that a group united can enact real change.
A reminder that despite the frequent disregard of minorities’ civil liberties, there is still resiliency within the group affected.
A reminder that we must NOT tolerate nonsense around our babies.
A reminder that our inactions have profound consequences on our loved ones.
My perception of Aiyana Jones currently resides in the abstract, because the prevalence of questions as opposed to answers. But this I can state with certainty:
She is not collateral damage. She is not their throwaway. She is not a cause. She is not a footnote.
Who is Aiyana Jones? More than a rhetorical question.
Rest in Power baby girl. We do care who they shoot.
I am five long years past 18 on this day, and only just coming to reach a certain threshold into adulthood. For me, at least, it is signified as a certain form of accountability. In my twenty-three years, I have to recognize what thinking and what actions and what words I express and how they affect the world all around me. For me – at Least – I feel I have to step up and realize what I give power to.. What I love.. What I hate.. And how the society in which I partake (re)acts. For me, I have to See exactly what lines in the sand I accept.. Who’s on what side.. and who is harmed in that crossfire. As a man falling head-first into adulthood, I have to feel the particle of innocence that died within me with Aiyana Jones.
A very wise man said in response to this tragedy that it always takes something so extreme and tragic and other-worldly cruel to See, and to catapult ourSelves into change.. The remorse I feel today brings me to ask only “why?” Why does it take a 7 year-old girl being shot and killed in her own home (by the men and women we pay out of our very pockets to protect and serve her) for everyone’s consciousness to rise? Why do we have to witness suffering so dramatic to feel compassion for a father and a family that, too, are asking themselves “Why” this has come to pass? Why only after imagining (to the best of one’s ability) how many things this family would have done differently, how many bullets they would have jumped in front of, how many dollars and hours they’d have spent – just to save their little girl – are we capable of such Awareness?
In every such instance of this tragedy – and not to take from this One, but there are Many – we feel a pain that any human must feel. I am no religious man, but I do Believe in cause and effect. Our callousness, our heartlessness, our lack of compassion for those unfamiliar to us – brings upon the entire World such a loss. Such a needless cause… And such a needless effect. I want everyone to think on this, as I am and shall continue to think on it until I, mySelf, change: Who could you possibly hate So much that you’d want death to befall not him, but his Seven Year-Old Daughter? As I see it, whether I like it or not, this is a judgment made on our “thinking” and our perceptions.
The Babies are Dying for Our Sins.
The hopes of our better tomorrow are being lost to yesterday’s wars amongst men of which they are not even wholly Aware. Again, I want you to think on this. And I want this thought to come not through the veil of pain and anger that we all most-assuredly feel. I want this thought to come not in calculation for some sort of revenge.. As if this poor child could Be avenged. No, this thinking need not be set above the flames of our passions, but the icy silence of our souls. I want this thinking to bring you resolve and Understanding. Through such thinking, I pray you find it in you to Adapt and Grow and Change. For to save the innocent (the children), we accountable (the Elders) must See what cycles we continue. We, each and every last individual, must see within us all that we cause. YourSelf, MySelf, him- and herSelf, must find the courage within us, One by One, to impress upon our own respective Universes a Cause that will produce a much greater, more inspiring, more captivating, and less destructive Effect. If not for your Self, then for every Aiyana hereafter.
Because every single step you make reverberates in the lives of every other.. and we need not wait for such a gut-wrenching imprint on our very souls to realize how it affects the youth.
RIP Aiyana Jones.
ONE Day there will be no more Aiyana Jones….
TOO Many of our children are walking murdered…. There Dreams Have been killed by the darkness of their environment.
THREE Days ago no one was outraged… In three days will you still be?
FOR the sake of our children… Do Better
FIVE Fingers on a hand and it only took One on a trigger to break the hearts of millions..
SIX SIX SICKens me to my stomach to imagine how different Aiyana life would have been if men like the suspect were ostracized instead of embraced…
Seven years of life is not long enough
Seven years of life is not long enough
Seven years of life is not long enough
Seven years of life is not long enough
Seven years of life is not long enough
Seven years of life is not long enough
Seven years of life ended with a flash bomb…
Aiyana is too close to mine…
This isn’t even a hard one. The police were wrong, period. The way they “went in”, I’m SURE, was fueled by them losing one of their own in the recent days. Is this a new instance though? Nope. Should the child’s death be brought to “justice”? Of course. Will this happen? Doubtful. Does it ever? Rarely. Now. What CAN we change and/or control? Back in the days when cops were snatching school boys up and beating them for “fitting the description”, chances are, what the “offense” was wasn’t even a real crime in the first place. People just trying to live. No records, no reason for suspicion, just going to work. What have we now? Are some still just minding their business and still harassed? Of course. Is this often the case now? Of course not. We now take pride in a lifestyle that CONSTANTLY straddles the fence of legal and illegal. The cops haven’t changed, we have. Can we change the cops? Of course not. Can we change ourselves. YES WE CAN. We need to focus on what we can change. Who knows, maybe a people that offer no PROUD examples of ridiculous behavior will be taken more seriously at the table. People have it twisted, we’re definitely at the table…with no manners. The passion that should be behind the remembrance of Aiyana is being misplaced. Somebody is outside acting a fool RIGHT damn now, and their elders are ignoring it. “Who’s gon’ check them, boo?”…me damnit. You should too. If we don’t, the blood is on our hands as well. Yup. Mathematics.
– a donor
When I read the story of Aiyana Jones, I was brought back to a place of uneasiness and then thought how her father’s life has been changed forever. Aiyana’s birthday, Christmas or even Easter -the holiday where the good lord and savior’s resurrection is celebrated- didn’t come to mind. But I remembered quality family times as a child, oddly enough, on Halloween. It was one we all looked forward to. It so happens that my favorite uncle’s birthday is October 31st, which has meant a party every year in addition to America’s favorite tricks and treats. I remembered how my Father would spend the week before the party with me and my older brother looking for costumes and how much fun it was. There was a joy that seemed to radiate from him knowing that it was times such as these he would remember forever. He even Allowed us to get a candy bar when we checked out after finally finding something we all agreed on. It was him and his boys out spending time together while my mom was at home relaxing for a change. These are times only he and the two of us will remember so vividly. we would arrive at the party and laugh with love at each other costumes. My brother and I always had the best ones.
The best thing about the party was at one point, my aunt, my godmother actually, would gather all the cousins together and take us around the neighborhood to go trick-or-treating: It was free candy, I was with my family and to top it off I was able to be Spider man, suit and all. On this day even my Evangelist aunt would come and commune with the heathens who celebrated such a holiday.
Everyone enjoyed each other. It was a time for us to talk about school, show each other the latest dances and share secrets we had been holding tightly. Once things died down we would say our goodbyes and load into our cars one by one hugging and waving as we drove away. I would often fall asleep on my brothers shoulder and by the end of the ride my dad would have to wake us both up.
We were once in a car accident where a drunk driver rear ended us. Long story short my leg was broken. I remembered my Father jumped out of the car and instantly started cursing before the man could even open his car door. “What the fuck is wrong with you man?! Do you know I have my children in the car?!” he yelled while unbuttoning his sleeves. I tried to move to get a better view but was paralyzed and instantly screamed from the pain that came over me when I applied pressure to my leg. My Father was back at the car leaning over me before I could take another breath. “You okay lil man? What hurts you?” he asked me with all the concern a parent could have for their child. My Mother instructed my Father to call the police and finish talking to the man, who at this point was leaning on the car and had started crying and apologizing, while she attended to me.
“Look man you could have killed my family, my children!” he said. I thought how it was no longer, in that moment, at all about my mother but about myself and my sibling. “Mother baby, fathers maybe” the old saying goes, expressing how the Mother has a special bond in knowing that the child is hers beyond any shadow of doubt. But there’s something to be said about a Father who is protective of his child, as all fathers should be. It is even more special for a Black Man who is a Father and present in his or any child’s life. A certain Bell of Celebration rings knowing we are there, even if only in the shadows, according to statistics.
The police arrived and if this is of any surprise they actually treated my Father as if he was in the wrong. I should mention the drunk driver was white and this was in New Orleans. Even though this was over 15years ago to this day two things make me upset and uneasy: drunk drivers and police officers.
There has been countless times where police officers have wrongly offended, beaten and accused black men of the craziest crimes and at this point cannot afford teach his children that police are there to protect them. When everyday reality shows them they are really put out there for their own demise. Whether on the Streets or even sleeping after having a fun filled day, a child knows from seeing how their parents are treated, they are never safe in today’s society. This story has bulls eyed me in a spot I thought most of America would have been hit in as well. We all have children or nieces or nephews whom we love dearly, yet it seems as if this story and case isn’t going anywhere but to the land of #oldtrendingtwittertopics.
I felt the need to ask: Is there an obligation that we as adults have to children? Is there an obligation that all parents have to think of the child, regardless of whose it is, first?
Is it okay when the dealer on the corner shoots a stray bullet and it hits our children? Do we not go after him with torches and pitchforks? Should we not go after careless police officers, who already don’t respect us as a race, with that same vengeance? Or do we only react when “tragic mistakes” take the life of a Caucasian, Jewish or Asian family’s child?
The holiday these Officers of Integrity, Professionalism and Courtesy seem to be celebrating needs to come to an end. The Laziness, Disrespect and treatment of Disregard is costing the Black Community its future. Soon we will be celebrating “the day of the dead” more than the opposed, “our savior’s birth.” How long can this go on for Christ’s sake?
As a people, we have suffered through slavery, economic disadvantages, substandard living environments, strategic criminal opportunities, wrongful imprisonment, aggression from law enforcement and unjust sentences which have been plaguing our communities for centuries. We have tolerated these disadvantages as we have continually pursued freedom from all bondages that have diminished our faith in each other as well as murdered our pride in our race. When we analyze these situations, we cannot help but conclude that we are being held down by design, as we have the ability to access our history and our progress only to clearly recognize the unfathomable energy that has gone into the demise of the African race.
We have been systematically programmed to hate one another by hating ourselves. The bias and prejudice that we have experienced as a people has caused some of us to unconsciously detest our skin color and history, as many of us are not only ignorant to our true history, but have no desire to be informed. These subconscious positions that we have taken against our existence have spiraled out of control and we are now beyond victims, we are headed towards extinction if this cycle continues.
The only hope that we have left is to educate and restore pride into our children concerning their real history and to infuse within their spirits an interest in to the true knowledge of self. Many generations have passed these dysfunctional attributes down to their descendants, but as consciousness and the knowledge of self is at a season of refinement, we have determined to provide those who are younger than us with the information necessary to restore us to the original place in which we have unseemingly fallen from. Our future release from oppression is directly connected to our present decision to enlighten the minds of our youth in this generation so that they in turn can prepare the generations to come.
Aiyanna Stanley Jones was a jewel who was removed from having the opportunity to contribute to the future success of our people. She was viciously killed while asleep on the couch in her home and had no control or opportunity to grow into the woman who she was predestined to be. Her future has been stolen from her due to the carelessness, insecurity and needless aggression of individuals who took an oath to protect and to serve her and her community. At the age of 7 years old, she was removed from delivering a significant contribution to this world which had the potential of contributing to the well being, restoration and future of our people. Her life was taken as a direct result of the spiraling abuse that has been ensued against our people which has not been corrected, diverted or stopped on any level within our cities, states and nation. There is no justification that can be provided for the blatant, vicious attack against this beautiful little girl and we are insulted as well as outraged at the attempt to do so.
Aiyanna Stanley Jones was undeserving of being murdered in this tragedy, yet she is hailed as a hero to our people and will be a constant thorn in the side of the oppressors as we who remain will ensure that her name is stuck to this mission of freedom and truth. Her life was sacrificed on our behalf to remind us of the horrible agenda that has been implemented against our people and to intensify the fire that we carry to ensure that our future generations are positioned as rulers and not as worthless nationalists in a country that has diminished our value. We are forever indebted to Aiyana Stanley Jones and will vindicate her life by taking the pain of her loss and enlightening as many of our people, both children and adults to the truths of our ancestors, our purpose and our God. What the enemy has meant for evil against our people once again, we will successfully apply to the good of our future by studying, clarifying and embracing our past.
Rest In Peace Aiyana. Your life will not be in vain.
Forgive us, Bless-ed one
For not shielding you from the evil
That cloaked you in your peace
While you sleep,
Search For the strength
to mourn you.
For the indignation
That will make this time
The last time
we let this happen.
How could you have known
The world was out to get you?
You never grew to know
How much anger is in our bellies.
No evil can befall you now
But we will be OK
your heart did not conform to this World
Like we allowed ours to do.
We pray you can forgive us.
We promise to do better.
We will grow forward
And forever Love you.
Here I lay in my princess covers, sleeping soundly. Dreaming. Letting my hopes paint a picture in my head. Maybe one day I can be the first woman president. Maybe I can be a doctor and save someone’s life if they get sick. Or maybe I can be a nanny, work at a daycare—taking care of others’ kids. I love children. I could tuck them in when they take their naps, just like Daddy does every night.
Today was a good day. Granny made my favorite dinner and we even played dolls together. She always tells me how cute I dress up mine. I hope I can play again with her tomorrow, after I get out of school.
If only Aiyana would have got that opportunity.
If only she would have got to see the sunrise.
A bullet does have a name–this one was Aiyana Jones.
As she slept her dreams, hopes, aspiration were robbed by a police and his best friend—a gun. She would never awake again. She would never get to feel her grandmother’s warm caressing hugs. She would never get to play with her best friend at her school the next day on the monkey bars, racing each other on the slide, and skipping along the blacktop. She would never feel her Dad tuck her in again. And her family would never see her light in her smile—the power of an innocent child. She was gone—forever.
The media has attempted to paint a picture in our head that it was an “accident” and the officer which was fighting with the grandmother and somehow, someway the gun mysteriously went off in the direction of the sleeping child.
Evidence goes on to show—ON CAMERA—that shots were actually shot from the outside porch. So this makes me wonder just how much the police actually cared about whom they hit. Especially, since they were warned several times by neighbors that there were children inside.
Yes, apparently they were there for a good reason—to get a suspect in another homicide of a 17-year-old-boy. But the simple fact that there is already cameras of an A&E channel should be reason enough to question what’s going on in this area. There has to be some kind of problem for them to be drawn to this Detroit.
This makes me think of “Set it Off “in the beginning and the movie that was based on a true story—“American Violet” with the police using their power TOO much and not caring about their citizens because of two things. RACE AND CLASS.
I doubt a raid would be going on in a rich area of the United States whether they thought a person killed a 17-year-old or not. Since when are the police SO concerned with one homicide of a teenage boy that they “raid” a house for the suspect with guns and such? I know a lot of people that have died in my community where the police had good leads for suspect, and never have they raided that suspect’s house, especially to the degree that it is necessary to throw a flash grenade and shoot from OUTSIDE of the house.
This whole story is fishy if you ask me. And should not only be a wake up to the black community, but to the rest of the world on the direct attack of the people who hold this country together—the working class.
I want to know when some leaders are going to get involved and question our government and people who are supposed to “protect and serve” EVERY individual in the United States of America, and not just the RICH—the rich white who had a 500 year head start to make it in this world as opposed to the “minorities”. The minorities who are still enslaved in the system, underrepresented, and lied to constantly by the media.
Don’t let Aiyana be the first of many before you WAKE UP. Something needs to be done so things like this don’t happen again. It was bad enough for Rodney King to be directly attacked by the police, but taking the life of a sweet child “by accident” with a shot from the outside when you were fully aware there was children is nothing but hatred. Open your eyes.
Spread the word.
Don’t accept this as okay. Create a change.
a 7 year old child was taken from us because of blatant disregard for black life by the police. i am sad, enraged and exhausted. However as we all well know the white supremacy police brutality playbook is well known. Our most viable and effective counter strategies have been laid out in detail. I plead w/ my brothers and sisters for proper execution.
But I want to talk to Aiyana. Aiyana i want you to know that many of your brothers and sisters that you may or may not have known that you had are holding you very close to their hearts right now. Please understand we are seeking justice for you and as you are being taken to the ancestors know that you will be safe and wont be lonely. Everything will be fine. Transition well little sister. We will be with you son. Ase
MY TRUTH- REST IN JUSTICE PRINCESS AIYANA: As I went through my day, my heart ached and I was saddened for the fallen martyr “Princess” Aiyana Jones. As I went through my day I felt gut wrenching, heart twisting pain that I’m sure was channeled from an ancestor on the day her child was sold away. And as I looked at my own children ages 6, 4, and 2, I couldn’t help but think about the Jones family.
I decided to break this tragic news to my children during our evening discussion, as they prepared for bed an hour ago. You see, I am a parent that KNOWS it’s critical to keep children abreast of news and aware of the struggle. I warned them that I had something sad to share before I summarized the MSNBC report, and presented the now famous image of Princess Aiyana standing in front of two animated princesses. My two oldest children immediately began linking this injustice to the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. They asked me “how” and “why”…and I told them, the same racism that fueled slavery and the “treatment during Dr. King’s times” never died.
I told them I was preparing to write this piece about Princess Aiyana, and they each asked if they could write a letter to her. So these are the letters Donovan and Daymion dictated to me on 5/17/10 at 8:45pm. When you read them you will see why I wept as I hugged them extra tight:
Dear Little Aiyana:
You are so smart. I just want to cry at what the police did to you. You are cute. You are the greatest little girl.
Donovan (6 years old)
P.S. You look just like Darielle in my class.
I just want to say you’re so great at math. I just want to cry with blinds [sic]. I just wish you could stay alive and they didn’t shoot and kill you. I want you to be alive forever and ever and ever. I just want to give you a flower today.
Daymion (4 years old)
Where should I start¿?
I arose to my faux wood shaded walls
Window open…listening as the water falls
From the sky, rolling on cloulds like light blue & white cheeks
6:30 am…awake from the nights sleep
As the sun makes its way over the mountains into the valley that I reside
The dusk turns to dawn…and it seems as the night cried
As the gray overcast sets the tone of the broken hearted
All Black attire is a reminder of the recent departed
Brown skin, so young, not even half of my cousins age
Intellegent mind set…an unwritten book with unfinished pages
Who knows where to put the blame¿?
Blue & Red lights…a flash bang
Altercation ends with a slug in a girls brain
Serve & Protect¿?
Get served…protect they own assets
Or better yet…lack of Re-Spect
Even heard the white coats came quick with the hospital rush
Pronounced DOA…fuck autotune…I have bigger issues than that
Realizing that its a crime to be black…
Punishable by death it seems
Even moving alil white can get one life in pursuit of green
Innocent child victims…
Funeral arrangements are always fucked up
Asking a mother which color casket to pick from
Then you can watch the family nut up
Reflecting on the occurence that caused the current crisis
How carelessness has taken the color from out her iris
And its damn near on a daily you hear about this shyt
Until it hits home…
Then you’ll be fed up with this bullshyt!!!
From Coach @BilalSankofa
LIFES greatest fear is that when she dies
that that is HER will become NOTHING.
A Manifest ZERO.
Sadly, Death is the HERU that springs life into existence.
We’ve been taught that we evolved from ZERO
that when we die we will return to ZERO
There in that thought LIES our problem
Subconsciously we were filled with the FEAR of being reduced to a ZERO
Oh but the Circle of Life
The Circle of Life
But NOW take a moment & think deepl, ponder, toil over & reflect over all that that is YOU.
What goes around comes around.
Grandma LIVES in YOU!
Grandpa LIVES in YOU!
All YOUR grandparents dated back to FOREVER are ALIVE through and In YOU!!
They are ALIVE but you perceive it not.
If we ask the sound of sound
The drummers kick & snare
The rhythm of the strings on the bass
The melodies tinkling over the keys of the key board
If we asked all of them & listened deeply
SOUND would reply: I come from nowhere; I have ALWAYS been here waiting for the right conditions to process me into the NOW!
When conditions are sufficient, we manifest
When conditions are no longer sufficient, we no longer manifest.
It does not mean that we no longer exist- but like the sound of sound, without the proper instrument we do not manifest.
All that we are depends on causes & conditions.
All that has existed before-exists now & all that will ever exist in the future are all connected.
If a baby does not make it to full term
We must not mourn for too long for WE KNOW that there was not sufficient causes & conditions to fully bloom at that time, She will COME AGAIN.
Everything done in the dark will soon come to light.
We must always remember the knowledge of this ZERO is the Circle of Life
This 360 Degree Circle of Life
The Ying & Yang
The wisdom of the WE
The OURS goes on forever.
Don’t fall off into the darkness of confusion for that will only be a 180, a complete about face, an incomplete journey traveled halfway, a half circle.
Family, it all lives in this metaphorical ZERO
This Circle of Life.
KNOW then, that there is NO BIRTH!
There is NO DEATH!
There is no COMING nor GOING!
There is neither SAME nor DIFFERENT!
There is NO BEGINNING!
There is NO ENDING!
IT IS THAT IT IS!
Princess Aiyana Jones Transitioned so that we may learn HOW TO LIVE.
Mourn OUR DEATH but REJOICE in her giving all of us LIFE & Returning to FOREVER.
Nkonso Nkonso: We are forever linked like links in a chain.
Coach Bilal Sankofa
They call them flash
Took her breath
Designed to paralyze by fear.
Has spilled onto the streets.
In a flash.
There is something about Aiyana Jones. There is this feeling, this motivation, this energy circulating around this situation. People know and understand that she is not the first to be murdered in Babylon by terrorists in uniforms given authority sanctioned by the state – more commonly referred to as ‘police’ [see Sean Bell, Oscar Grant…Jerean Baker]. And somewhere in the deep recesses of our mind, no matter how it hurts, we know that she will probably not be the last…
So what is it about this beautiful, black, 7 year old princess named Aiyana Jones? What we feel is bigger than Aiyana. Make no mistake, this is ABOUT Aiyana, but it is BIGGER than Aiyana.
It is what she represents: Countless, unknown/un-named children being murdered in malicious fashion by police (and niggas alike). Her death represents the vicious disregard for black life, the flagrant nonchalance toward innocence.
She is the sleeping giant – look what they did, look what we’ve allowed, look at where we must go.
Her murder is reality, but the manner in which she was murdered is symbolic – colonialism, slavery, jim crow, racism, self hatred can all be found in the depths of this story. So what is it about Aiyana Jones…she’s is us; ourselves, our daughters, our sisters, our nieces, our cousins, our generation, our people. BIGGER.
Aiyana Jones – In Lak Esh [You Are My Other Me]. And that is where this energy emerges. We know, whether consciously or not, that Aiyana is who we are.
There is no justice for Aiyana Jones, just as there is no justice for our people…and if there is no justice there can be no peace in Babylon. We cannot rest, or become complacent. We must speak her name aloud. We must remember. We must build.
“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” – Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
Imagine sending your daughter to bed and wrapping her up in her favorite Disney blanket. Imagine kissing her on the forehead and envisioning a prosperous future for her. Picture doing all of these things and when you awake in the morning she is no longer with you. Envision being Charles Jones, the father of Aiyana, and having to lie face down in your daughter’s blood as police officers mimicking military soldiers treat your family like enemy combatants in a war zone. Or Mertilla Jones, Aiyana’s grandmother, forced to go through 12 hours of police interrogations, because inept officers wanted to cover up their wrong doings. This is the story of Aiyana Stanley Jones, a beautiful 7 year old girl who was murdered in cold blood by the Detroit Police Department.
As this painful ordeal continues to unfold, several questions are left to be asked. Why was such force needed to be used with a child in the home? If officers were aware of the suspect’s location in the adjoining apartment, then why was the home of Aiyana raided?
I am hurt, angered, and confused by this tragedy. Aiyana’s death haunts me because I see her all around me. My friend who has a 3 year old daughter; every time I think of the possibility of something similar happening to her tears immediately begin to fill my eyes. I have a cousin the same age as Aiyana; the mere thought of him being stripped away from me is unfathomable. This affliction makes me ponder on my 9 year old god-sister, who has the world before her, imagining that her future could be taken by heartless individuals is unbearable. We all know Aiyanas and unfortunately we have heard Aiyana’s story too many times.
With pain in my heart and anger in my spirit I write these words to awaken you. I write these words to keep the story of Aiyana alive. I write these words in the name of our ancestors who have witnessed these abominations and are crying out. I write these words to my future children who may someday read this and realize the fragility of their lives. I write these words as a covenant to protect them by any means necessary and ensure that their future will be just as bright as their smiling faces.
I wanted to revisit this particular topic, in lieu of the Health Care debate, and my belief that many in the American Black community are still blind to a full and comprehensive understanding. Due to my own ignorances, and constant need for edification, I will take counsel with my elders on these topics. Hopefully you will be blessed with understanding from our discussion…
Brother George, many people have been discussing fascism as though it doesn’t exist in this society. I really need some help and describing this particular ideological as it shows itself in practice…
“We will never have a complete definition of fascism, because it is in constant motion, showing a new face to fit any particular set of problems that arise to threaten the predominance of the traditionalist, capitalist ruling class. But if one were forced for the sake of clarity to define it in a word simple enough for all to understand, that word would be “reform.” We can make our definition more precise by adding the word “economic.” “Economic reform” comes very close to a working definition of fascist motive forces.”
Alright! Alright. Hold on, though sir. Could further explain it in terms that might give me an example, or how it works in everyday dealings?
“Such a definition may serve to clarify things even though it leaves a great deal unexplained. Each economic reform that perpetuates ruling-class hegemony has to be disguised as a positive gain for the upthrusting masses. disguise enters as a third stage of the emergence and development of the fascist state.”
Break it down for me a little more, OG….
“The modern industrial fascist state has found it essential to disguise the opulence of its ruling-class leisure existence by providing the lower classes with a mass consumer’s flea market of its own. To allow a sizable portion of the “new state” to participate in this flea market, the ruling class has established currency controls and minimum wage laws that mask the true nature of modern fascism.”
OH SYHT!!! My fault, sir, but that was profound! Alright, let me reiterate for my own comprehension. The ruling-elite, those with power of money to control the governing representatives that have been elected by the lower classes, need to create the illusion of “freedom” to hide their pimping and parading, they allow the lower classes to spend their hard earned money on consumables and the like. But they have created ways to limit the amount of money made, products with planned obsolescence, and use race as a means to keep the competitive edge off certain sectors of the middle class…
I want to thank you for speaking with me, my brother…I love you…rest in revolt…
Nothing makes my day better than spending it in the neighborhoods of the black community, listening to arguments about Jay-z, and brothers from St. Louis reminiscing about how the bloods and crips first came here. The height of the day was hearing brothers discuss the murder of Hitman-T at eighteen, and his body being expunged from the ground, and left on his mother’s doorsteps. Yeah, great way to start your day off on a positive note.
So, once I returned home, I was excited to read my e-mail (we might as well just start calling it g-mail…it is coming) and my DMs (Direct (Private) Messages from my twitter account), and find a set of videos left by a good brother of mine, and a sister asking me to watch The Black Agenda that was recorded early today. From listening to old gang bangers, to listening to older black politicians and academics. Yeah, my life, right?
The theme was “We Count”, and Tavis Smiley was sitting at a round table(enough of the subtle gestures already guys…) with the likes of Rev. Jesse l. Jackson, sr., Minister Louis Farrakhan, Michael Eric Dyson, Cornel West, Angela Glover Blackwell, Michael Fuantroy, Dr. Julianne Malveaux. They were affectionately referred to as Tavis smiley and the Panelist…I thought they were going to dim the lights, and drop a few highlights on them while the music began to play…instead, Tavis asked everyone to hold and pray. Thank you. I didn’t know if Michael Phleger would be able to hold a note. Oh, yeah, Michael Phleger was the one who gave the invocation, yeah, the white Michael Phleger gave the invocation for the Black Agenda…yeah.
It was hosted by Wayne Watson president of Chicago state university(affectionately known as CSU…Geez, guys…who’s writing this stuff…), and before the marquee guests appeared he asked the students to participate in the 2010 census. Now why would he bring that up? When have you ever heard someone talk about the census? He states that participation in the census will help the federal government allocate funds to the black community…
I was so glad that Jesse L. Jackson was the one to make the comments about the moral center, and the black agenda being the moral agenda…I’m not going to say it…well…maybe the good Christian monogamous brother believes he is Abraham…
The gist or the overall theme of the conference and much of all the panelists’ discussion was that the American Black Agenda was the American agenda. I ultimately understood the dialogue, and was glad the dialectic was pronounced. However, I also would like to state that every time American Blacks attempt to depend on the state of White America to heed their call, nothing but concessions amount from the talks. This is still planet earth, and rule number one among the living seems to be the need to demand power, and not ask for it. The hope of better treatment for the millions of American Blacks in this country from millionaires is very strange to me. And ultimately, those who say let your work show, I’m in the belly, and I have been here for the most of my life, and I have never seen you.
I see the gangster discussing how they have shot people and how the organizations of young men in the streets of St. Louis has grown. I hear the pain of the brothers and sisters when referencing work and jobs. I hear them when they talk about the various prisons across the state of Missouri, and how one can avoid the traps. I believe they have taught me more about the black agenda than those who live comfortably working at such institutions as Prince George University, Georgetown, and Princeton, Bennett College for women. I have no compunctions with them discussing moral codes because they also discuss their moral dilemmas. I trust them. And because they see me striving for this degree, while living among them, they trust me as well.
Sometimes I have to laugh at people to keep the last pieces of my sanity from completely sending me into the abyss. I think deeply about what I read, and what I hear. I attempt to reflect the best part of that back into the world, through what I say and what I write. I consider the Brother Malcolm X to be a guide post in my life more reasons than one. I think about all the articles I read based on Oprah’s theory of the down low brother and “homo-thug”. I listen to the banter about Atlanta, and I laugh when someone begins to question a man’s sexual preference based on if he likes receiving oral stimulation from a woman more than vaginal penetration. I wonder if any of these people would have asked Malcolm those questions, or had those thoughts running in the back of their heads as he mentions he spent seven years incarcerated.
So today, as I read my twitter stream, I begin to giggle at this one young sister that I follow. The sister is one of those high strung women that thinks because she looks a certain way, (that being light-skinned), that she is entitled a certain respect in all things American black. I read a comment she made today about the release of Mr. Thomas Haggin, the one of the suspects arrested at the Audubon Ballroom after the assassination of Brother Malcolm. Mr. Thomas would become the only one of three men sent to prison for the assassination to admit his guilt. The sister typed shock that the brother was being released in rhetorical question.
What I responded to the sister might have been slightly rude. What I typed possibly might have even gotten my account blocked from following her. I mentioned that the brother had done his time, as Malcolm had done his once, and asked her if she was going to “put in work” for Malcolm. Knowing that she would rather post and update her twitter stream than plan to kill the person responsible for the assassination of a brother she looks up to in death, but possibly would have repulsed in person, I continued my conversation with others there, not expecting a response. Not saying that I am doing more, of course, my life being what it is, I would suppose my efforts should be considered with high regard. Those who have seen the ugly face of war should be relieved of any obligations to return.
That being said, in the same vein that I regarded the actions of Maulana Karenga and the US organizations involvement with the murder of Bunchy Carter, I read and learn of the history, respect the elders that survived, and learn from their flawed victories. There were wars and disputes that existed before I did. The black struggle for self-determination and nationhood has had people from different sides of the aisle with extreme passion and dedication take shots and fight one another. Just as I have fought with people, and have done things that others might either be afraid to do, or ashamed to do. We all have a past. We all have to thank God for the opportunities given to us to live among the hurt, as those that hurt live among us. It is not my duty or my job to the memory of Malcolm x to attack Aziz Muhammad(who subsequently was made the regional captain of the East Coast and head of the very Mosque that Malcolm built upon his release by Minister Louis Farrakhan), Kahlil Islam, or Thomas Hagan.
If you feel it is your duty, let me remind you that when you attack that man, you attack a brother that was in the climate that “allowed him [Brother Malcolm] to be assassinated” that Louis Farrakhan has taken accountability for creating. You attack a man who not once said that the other brothers who were set free some twenty odd years ago had anything to do with the assassination. You attack a man that while serving forty years has received a master’s degree, and has been working to take care of his wife and children. But, he is in Sunset Park in Brooklyn if you need answers. I’m sure he is more than just the man who killed another man you probably wouldn’t have understood either…
While perusing the morning’s bits and digits on the various sources of information I use to keep abreast of the current flow of national and international events -simply put, I was reading my iGoogle page- I came across the story of the strong students on the campus of the University of California San Diego. These students were terrorized by the startling discovery of a noose laying on a library table. The student’s Black Student Union organized hundreds of fellow colleagues and called for the university to be shut down. The righteously indignant warriors of social change held down the fort of the college’s chancellor’s office for an outstanding 6 hours(source here). Unfortunately, the student’s organized and civil display of unrest with what would be that campus’ third outrageous sentiment of racial terrorism would only be rewarded with a suspension of the female white(American) terrorist from the campus( source here).
For those of you who have been following this blog and those of you who know me a little more personally, I used to be mister fuck college, and mister college ain’t teaching me shit. Pardon my United States of American. These days of course I can always be found either defending my reason for attending and pursuing further degrees, or encouraging others to make the jump. As a college advocate, I am extremely disturbed by this slap on the wrist. A noose is not a political statement that should be protected by the US Constitution. It should immediately alarm the campus that something dreadfully dangerous could happen, and the local authorities should be called in to investigate, not campus police. No disrespect to public safety officers on campus’ across the land, but I mean charges of terrorism should be filed.
As your President Barack Obama fills my ears with his sugary words of education and his commentary of how high-school dropouts live shattered lives, I’m wondering how people of campus terrorism and trauma will live. The schools of the USA are shattered already, Mr. Obama. You can’t buy a decent education without worrying about a high-strung professor killing you, some guy with social disorders shooting you, or finding a damn noose on a library table. In the American Black community, children are herded through metal detectors and yet there are more cases of white mass homicidal attacks and suicides than in most urban school yards. I’m glad that over 41,000 education jobs have been created from the stimulus money, but I hope those educators and members of the operations of schools live to enjoy a healthy career.
While I am profoundly grateful for the students who have contributed to black history while the dumb cow on CNN keeps mentioning that they “should be celebrating black history..”(white folks…I promise y’all, figure it out…the next crew is being raised by the educated, the enlightened,the and war scarred…). Obviously, America has failed to realize that their terroristic behaviors are atavistic, and need to be monitored, and the history of the American shows a pattern of behavior that is remarkably savage in light of their great contributions to technology. The inability to defer anger and murder/suicide is a dangerous cultural paradigm and should never be taken lightly by anyone who finds themselves surrounded by Americans. I would would raise the American White Terrorist level to red, but there has never been anything but a severe risk of terrorist attacks from the American white since Columbus the Killer arrived.
While this country is trying to make “Fat” the new “nigga”, Americans are still, as always, the old terrorists.